20-1 Recovery In Cabo
by Ezra Cross
Summary: After a mission that changed the Avengers lives forever, the team escapes New York to allow Clint a chance to recover in Cabo. In each chapter Clint's relationship with others will be tested, strengthened, and secrets are revealed. Please enjoy! Recovery, injury, psychological growth, and friendship!
1. Pepper

A/N: this takes place right in between the final chapter of Where the Worlds Burn and the Epilogue.

so what did the Avengers do when they ran off for Clint's recovery in Cabo? How did he handle the death of his brother, Arrow, and all the events of Alfheimr? Find out now!

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><p><strong>Recovery in Cabo<strong>

**Chapter 1: Pepper**

Clint wanted to pay for the trip himself. That was one of the stipulations he had about coming out with everyone. After all, what good did a few billion dollars do him if he never used any of it? The Russian mob didn't need the money, he'd already paid for his apartment complex (and Pepper took the time to actually make the purchase a legal one), and then transferred the general management to Kill's grandmother. Kill may have been a gangster, and the man who ran all the streets on Clint's bad side of Harlem, but he still had a heart of gold. It took something special for Kill to walk right up to Nick Fury and declare he could take the Level 10 SHIELD operative out if Clint asked. That always made the archer like him. For keeping Clint fed on sugar cookies for his entire stay, he figured the Kill's old lady deserved a good retirement. Kill would make sure the riff-raff would be cleared out and, with the multi-million dollar stipend for building remodeling, Clint had no doubt the good heart's stuck there would find themselves in a better position come Christmas. All of which was arranged thousands of feet up, in Tony's private plane, on their way to Cabo.

When they landed in Mexico, a spokesman for the resort was there to greet them personally with champagne, a private limo, and a wheelchair. Clint could have done without the last of those, but Pepper insisted, and so did the resort. They wanted him to feel welcome and at home. For that matter, he did too.

While the other Avengers worked their luggage out of the taxi and tried to explain why no one could lift Thor's bag, Clint and Pepper wheeled over to the front desk to sign themselves in. He was ready to get this vacation started the right way.

"You know, Tony can buy." Pepper said, smiling at him.

Clint shrugged, and then inhaled sharply when his injured shoulder tried to move.

"Oh, Clint, oh, I'm sorry!" Pepper exclaimed. She looked up at the receptionist. "Can we get some ice or—"

"It's fine. I just forget sometimes. I'm all right." Clint told her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

She sighed, and set her handbag beside one of his wheels. Having Tony to deal with was one thing, but now she had a house full of Avengers again, and that caused all of her priorities to shift. Since Clint left, almost everyone else cleared out in one way or another. Bruce had his teaching job in Princeton, Natasha and Steve spent most of their time away, and Steve had his apartment not only in Manhattan, but also in D.C. to keep close to the Triskelion and Fury. The team was still together more than apart, but the dynamics were different.

"It's nice to see us all like this again." She said unexpectedly.

"Blown Up? On the lam from responsibility? Fighting over who is getting the last snickers bar out of that snack machine?"

"Together. My money's on Bruce." She smirked at him, watching a rock-paper-scissors match spring up in front of the machine. The receptionist handed over a few forms to sign. Pepper took it, and a clipboard, and then gave both to Clint.

"I'll put ten on Steve. Together like what?" Clint replied. He perused the few sheets. He didn't care what the rooms cost. He wanted to live in a lap of pure luxury, on his own money, and this was the only place he planned to do it. True, pricier hotels existed all over Mexico, but this one was special. He'd pay whatever he needed for that villa.

"Together like this. It hasn't been the same without you and Tony, or you and Natasha, or you and—"

"Without me." Clint clipped the pen into place and handed the entire thing to her. "You can say it. Secretly you want to run away with me. I won't tell Tony. He may get jealous."

"Uh huh, from the guy who convinced him to finally buy me an engagement ring?" Pepper returned the papers to the desk. "To be honest, Christmas was a bust this year."

That surprised him. "Seriously?"

"Guess what Tony got me?"

"Whatever it was, apparently it wasn't as good as the red dress I helped pick out, or the spa day in St. Lucia." Clint said.

"It was the return of the twenty foot custom rabbit."

Clint chuckled and shook his head. When Tony stressed out, he made some pretty deplorable choices.

"Bruce won, you owe me ten dollars."

"I thought the bet was in pesos."

Pepper grabbed the set of keys from the receptionist and handed them to Clint though she didn't let go when he attempted to take them.

"I missed you, you big, stupid jerk. You weren't there to hang the garland, or the mistletoe, or help Steve wrap Tony's toilet in cellophane and you should have seen Bruce burn off his eyebrows deep frying a turkey. Thor drank himself stupid on the wine Fandral sent him. It was for you too, but you weren't around to help him finish it, so he just set a glass aside for you and didn't drink it. Don't even get me started on Natasha. I think she just sat in a corner and mentally murdered us all so she didn't have to feel. I kicked Tony out too."

"Wait, _out_, out? When?" Pepper let go of her end and Clint was left holding the keys.

"After I found you in Atlantic City. I realized he knew why you left and all of you decided to just keep me in the dark like I'm not part of this . . ." she gestured around them. "This thing of ours. So I kicked him out. He had to live at Banner's until Christmas Eve."

Clint shook his head. Tony hadn't mentioned those details when they spoke about what the Avengers had been up to while Clint was away. Somehow, none of it surprised him.

"I'm ready to just bury some things, get some sun in my face, and pretend that every alien besides Thor does not exist." Clint said. "And I missed you too."

Pepper wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed him forward toward their new villa. She still had a few things left to arrange, like his private physicians, surgical team, and other necessities. But at that point, all she wanted was to either pummel him or be close to him. For his sake, she chose the latter.

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><p>So each chapter will be between Clint and one of his teammates, each will give a tiny reveal about him, their relationship, or even their secrets.<p>

_Next time: Thor_


	2. Thor

Here is chapter 2! hope you love it:) I love humanizing Thor and giving him incredible depth.

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><p><strong>Recovery in Cabo<strong>

**Chapter 2: Thor**

For the first three days of his stay at the 5-Star luxury Esperanza Resort, Clint couldn't leave his bed. Exhaustion, relief, and the overwhelming weight of all that had happened hit him like a sledge hammer. He told himself he was done running, promised Pepper that she'd leashed him for good, but in the end he lied to everyone, including himself. He couldn't bear the thought of being in his old room, in Stark Tower at all, without his old friend at his side but he knew the deceased wolf would never be coming back.

He told the others they should go off and enjoy themselves, but with the white sandy beach ten steps from their front door, full room service, and a masseuse on-demand there was no reason to go. Like a strange motley crew of family and friends they went on the first vacation together as Avengers. The world could take care of itself for once. Rhodes, Falcon, and Peter were on the job.

Clint knew he had to take that first step and get out of bed. Even with his legs swinging over the side and toes poised over the floor, he had difficulty bringing about any further results. He'd been on his back for the past six days on Earth and four on Alfheimr with very few breaks in between. He still couldn't walk without aid. According to all medical scientists, recovery would take him between six weeks and six months. He needed to start eating, adding muscle, and get back to the gym. This morning he told himself he'd be doing just that, if only he could remove himself from the Clint-imprint on the down mattress.

Within five days, Clint passed his first post-explosion, post-random-envenomation-on-a-strange-world physical. Clint's personal, concierge, surgical team approved him for anesthesia to repair the obliterated ACL in his knee. A second team worked concurrently to debride the mass of knotted scar tissue in his shoulder and a third sent a bronchoscope into his lungs and then an endoscope into his stomach. After the surgery, they cleared him from stem-to-stern. He deserved rest and strict rehabilitation from that day on.

The morning of his seventh day in paradise it was time to start the process. Natasha left early with Pepper to grab some extra provisions in the little San Pablo town just a cab ride away. Clint required daily bandage changes at his surgical sites, which necessitated the trip. The opportunity to shop through the local venders surely would not be wasted, either. Clint didn't know where the morning had taken the others. Being bed ridden removed him from the typically daily processes beyond his room. He only knew Natasha's location because she took the time to whisper it in his ear before slipping out of his arms very early.

"Up, Clint. That's what we're here for." He told himself. The resort provided him with a wheelchair to get around, given his useless knee, fractured ankle, and difficulty using crutches with only one working arm. Staring at it beside the bed he knew exactly why he didn't want to get up. He shoved it away from him with his good hand. Wheelchairs were not his friends. He called his bow to his left hand and with the limb reached out to hook the handgrip to his crutches. He took his time lowering the arm rest on the right side, but after he had, he finally took the first steps toward enjoying the vacation his black card bought him.

The brace on his knee kept his right leg from touching the floor, forcing him to use his fractured left ankle to get around. To make that possible, Tony 3D printed him a cast out of carbon fiber, with a few wing nuts so he could remove it if necessary. It had the same shock absorption of a new Lexus which kept him from collapsing the minute his fracture hit the floor.

_Gotta hand it to Stark Technology_, he said to himself.

Clint and Natasha's little bungalow attached directly to the main room. Clint needed as little space between himself and the centers of action as possible. The open beach-front floor plan made it easier for his crutches to navigate. There was a small hallway connecting the bedroom to the kitchenette, living room, and walk-out patio leading to the ocean only ten feet away during high tide. Long white curtains billowed in the oceanic breeze, bringing in the sweet and salty air. A flat screen t.v. hung over a crystal laden fire place with three beach themed love seats between them. The wicker and hardwood reminded him briefly of Doodle Bygrove's woodland home. He smiled at the memory.

Housekeeping dropped off a tray of tropical fruit fresh enough to appear unrealistic. He grabbed an orange from the options, and hobbled toward the closest chair with it in his hand. Clint propped the crutches beside his chair, and dragged another over with the toe of his cast so he might elevate both of the swollen limbs. He settled back, looked into the beautiful ocean beyond the windows, and dug his thumb nail into the rind of the orange.

This was paradise.

:(:):(:):

Bruce jogged backwards, trying to get purchase in the white shifting sands of the San Lucas landscape. He reached left, lunged, crashed into the grains, and re-emerged with the Frisbee perfectly caught. He climbed back to his feet, and sent a ripping hook shot back up the beach to where Thor waited to catch it. If they were lucky, he wouldn't put his fingers through the plastic again in his attempt to snatch it from the air. If they weren't lucky, they had another stack of forty new ones to go through.

Thor ran sideways along the beach to catch the flying disc, snatched it from the air, and meant to throw it back. He made the motion to let it go, but a sight to his left in their bungalow suddenly stole his attention away. He waved once to the others, sent the Frisbee to Steve, and went back inside. Steve threw a shrug at Bruce, who repeated the gesture. Two was just as easy as one when it came to a superhuman bout of Frisbee. When Steve let the disk go with the flair of throwing his shield, Bruce very nearly Hulked out in his quest to retrieve it.

While they continued the game, Thor stepped onto the bungalow patio, and dusted the sand from his shorts and legs. He smiled at Clint sitting inside.

"My friend, seeing you here brings great joy to my heart." Thor said as he came forward. He pulled the chair across from Clint closer, and sat. "You are eating as well, and that too will please all."

Clint smiled. "Everyone is so interested in what I eat. If Steve had his way, I'd be stuffed like a turkey, and baked like an apple pie." He peeled another wedge from his half-eaten orange and offered it to Thor. In a strange turn of events, the Asgardian turned it down.

"I am quite well, I assure you. But how does your health fair? Your shoulder, does it mend?"

Clint rotated the joint very little to prove he could, though in the back of his mind, he hid his regret of the display. The arthroscopy had left him swollen and sore, though the doctors swore it would improve his healing time. Anyone claiming that got Clint's attention at once. He was lucky Sif's bottle of Flaming Falls water saved the majority of his most important asset before even returning to Earth.

"It's getting there." Clint replied noncommittally.

Thor watched him for a time without moving. He attempted to say something in his mind about the archer that he had been warring over for a considerable time. Temporarily, he kept the thoughts to himself. "Your other ailments, do they mend?"

"I'm feeling much better, Thor, yeah." Clint said, trying to show enthusiasm for his own recovery. He indicated the open patio. "Everyone else out there?"

Thor continued to stare at him, though eventually Clint's question filtered in through the jumble in his thoughts. "Our Captain throws the spinning disk for our doctor to catch. I was once part of this game. I did suggest that we should throw boulders, though the only one with such interest would be friend Hulk."

"I bet he'd like that too."

"Perhaps one day we shall. Have you made it here without the rolling throne?" Thor indicated the crutches Clint laid on the floor.

"I did. I'm not a fan of rolling thrones."

"Of that, I hold no doubt. Do you require ice?"

Clint sank into the four-thousand-dollars-per-day cushions in his chair, and regarded Thor nearly as hard as the Asgardian stared at him. He could be incredibly attentive when it came to assisting in the recovery of his friends, a side of Thor no one expected to exist. The first time he sat by Clint's sick bed, was nearly three years prior, when he came back from a plane crash in Africa. Thor became incredibly supportive after Clint and Steve returned from their torture at the hands of Barney Barton. Clint was recovering from a cocktail of addictive drugs at the time, and Thor remained at his side to usher him through the post-captivity cravings. This time, Thor didn't even attempt to maintain the cool exterior he used when the heat of battle flared up in his face. Something troubled him deeply.

"Thor, what's wrong?" Clint asked, bluntly.

"Wrong?"

"Something's wrong. You're not going to convince me there isn't. Has something happened on Asgard? Or with Alfheimr?"

Thor swiftly leaned forward, dispelling the idea with a wave of his hands. "No! No, my friend, nothing of the sort. Forgive me for peaking your concern. Surely I have heard nothing untoward of those realms. I . . . Brother, may I speak plain?"

"I sure wish you would." Clint's chest felt tight. He hated starting conversations like this. It always meant bad news was on the horizon, and the last time Thor started a conversation of this sort, Clint's brother invaded the White House and then blew it up.

"I require…" Thor paused. He leaned forward, scooting to the edge of his seat to be closer to the archer. "Clint, I am sorry."

At once, Clint wasn't sure what to make of this confession. He thought Thor spoke about Arrow's death, which twisted a dagger in his chest he had yet to remove. But at the same time, Thor had already offered his condolences on that matter. This sounded different. He was so . . . so serious, and never once in their friendship had Thor ever referred to Clint by his first name.

"Sorry for what?"

"For what?" Thor repeated with heaviness. He lowered his eyes to his hands, which were clasped in front of him. "This was my doing. All that has befallen, the loss of your arm . . ." He looked up again, and Clint could feel the emotion broiling within him. "Had I not fallen ill and required your defense over my life, you would have never left Midgard to begin with. You would know nothing of Asgard or Alfheimr beside the stories I relate, and this danger would never have come to you."

Clint set what remained of his orange on his lap, and struggled to sit up. He was disappointed with the wince he couldn't hold in when his knee jarred. Thor saw that instantly, and half rose to prevent Clint from moving more, but the archer stopped him.

"It's fine. Thor, I'm fine. You fell into the Odinsleep, and that was what, almost two years ago now? You seriously think that my defending you that day has any bearing on the Southlings shooting me with an arrow?"

"I – " Thor had obviously prepared this speech he planned to give, but fumbling it now, he wasn't sure what he should say. The events his memory went back to, as Clint correctly estimated, took place over two years prior. Thor and he had been stationed in the subway tunnels beneath the Department of Defense building in New York together. Thor inexplicably lost consciousness, and Clint did what he could to get them to the surface. However, taking advantage of his brother's condition, Loki struck. He'd been freed from his prison by the Captain of the Asgardian Guards, who revealed himself later as a traitor. With Thor defenseless, Clint spent hellish hours in those tunnels fighting to save both of them. The entire event boiled down to a fight between Loki and Clint, where Clint somehow used Mjlonir in place of his shattered bow.

But the fight didn't end how anyone expected. Tricked into thinking the roles were reversed, Natasha came across the scene. Her deceived eyes watched in horror as Loki slammed Thor's hammer toward Clint's face and did all she could to stop him.

"Thor, the only reason I ever went to Asgard in the first place wasn't your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame Natasha or Fandral. She's the one who shot me, and he dragged me along with you. Can't say I'm not appreciative, though. Not dying from a head shot seemed pretty agreeable at the time."

"It was his friendship with me that brought you thus, and had I not neglected the signs of the Odinsleep, I may have prevented your ever being in the position to defend me!"

Clint tried to stop him, but Thor went on despite the protest.

"Please, my piece I must speak. I confess it was my doing, our friendship, that ever put you in peril at the start. Not only had you found favor through my father, but I, on my own judgment, dragged you once more to Asgard for that war with the Frost Giants. You gained the notoriety that placed you in the utmost danger on more occasions than just then. Now, with those on Asgard hoping to spell your demise at the hands of another, I cannot help but feel that I have done you the greatest of disservice."

Thor hung his head again, his heart overflowing with the remorse he hoped to hide from the others. Clint had never seen him so disappointed in himself. He truly believed, with all that remained in him, that Clint's misfortune whenever he went to Asgard, and most recently in Alfheimr, resulted from Thor's first mistake. How long did he hold this animosity in? Had he refused to share this with anyone at all?

Clint slipped a hand beneath his injured knee, and gingerly cradled both of his legs to the floor. He pushed the extra chair away, and drew closer to Thor. Since the Asgardian, in his shame, refused to look at him, Clint spoke.

"If you think that I blame any of this on you, then you're wrong. Our friendship saved me on Alfheimr, Thor, don't you realize that? The rescue party you brought me, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, and Volstagg? They rescued me. You did too. If Sif hadn't brought me some Asgardian cures, I'd be dead. Not injured, Thor, dead. My friendship with you is what has kept me safe. Don't forget that. Not ever."

Absorbing Clint's steadfast statements, Thor at last looked at him. "You speak the truth?"

"I lie about a lot of things. Like enjoying Pepper's whole wheat pancakes, or Tony's music. I'm not lying about this."

Thor dwelled on that for a time, before at last deciding Clint must be telling him the truth. He nodded once, solidifying it in his mind, and then he stood. "You seem better each day. Your color has indeed returned."

Satisfied, Thor accepted his words at last, Clint leaned back into the cushions again. "Trying. I'll take those ice bags now."

"How many will you require?"

Clint flashed three fingers, and pulled the chair closer again. He propped up his injured legs and considered the remainder of his orange. Did he really want to finish it? He'd suddenly lost his appetite for the rest, and rolled it onto the glass-topped end table on his left. Thor returned with the three ice packs they kept stocked in the freezer for him.

True to his super-healing style, even Steve's fall from the sixty foot tree had him in perfect shape within a couple days. Clint wondered whether he should tempt Banner into his super-soldier serum business again, but suspected that conversation wouldn't bode well. He thanked Thor, and arranged the ice over his bruised and swollen flesh.

Thor noticed the abandoned food. "I am considering a meal from those that serve us. Shall I get you something made of meat and tacos?"

Clint snickered. "Yeah, that's ok. I don't think I could – "

Bruce jogged through the villa entrance with a frisbee in one hand. He sent the saucer toward Thor, who caught it. Bruce patted the sweat from his brow with the back of his white cotton top. In civilian clothes, he tended to look positively bohemian.

"Hey, look who hobbled out! How's the knee today?"

"Better. Getting there, at least."

"Keeping it iced?"

Clint indicated the obvious mound on his knee. Thor had gone slightly overboard when filling the bag. More wasn't always more, though he didn't believe such nonsense.

"Steve just ran into Tony on his way back from the bar. Cap's off to the gym I think. Like two hours of running around in the sand isn't enough."

Bruce held out his hand toward Clint's right. In response, Barton lifted his right hand for the doctor to take. They'd done this dance daily since he joined the team again. Bruce started low, working each joint in Clint's hand before making his way up. He flexed Clint's wrist, rotated it, went to the elbow, pulled, flexed, tugged, felt, and then he reached Clint's shoulder. Barton closed his eyes as he focused on not balking.

"Joint's still tight. You try working it since yesterday?" Bruce asked.

"Not since I woke up from anesthesia, no."

Bruce smiled a little. "I keep forgetting that was just yesterday. Time just feels like it's going so fast." He carefully rotated Clint's shoulder forward, felt the hitch and crackle of the joint protesting. Clint tightened as the pain shot down his arm.

"Loosen up." Bruce warned him. "You're tense, loosen up."

Clint tried.

Pulling as far forward as he could, Bruce gently reversed direction. He hit the familiar resistance of new scar tissue doing what it could to immobilize the shoulder for all time. If his body won out, Clint's archery days were officially over. The result would be disastrous, and everyone knew that. Bruce forced the joint a little more than he had the day before. Clint hissed through clenched teeth beneath the strain.

"Ten more seconds." Bruce said.

Thor hovered beside them, wishing for all the realms he could assist. He heard steps outside, and looked to see Tony stride inside with a stout glass of amber liquid on ice. Tony stopped in the doorway, witnessing a number of things all at once. For one, Clint was out of bed. That, alone, deserved a headline on the local newspapers. The second, was Bruce attending his shoulder and the scrunch-faced agony Clint bore through it. Tony took a sip of his drink.

"Good." Bruce said, slowly letting the joint go. Clint's shoulder sank as he breathed a sigh of relief. He readjusted the ice pack over it. After what Bruce had done, he definitely needed the cold. He picked up his glass of water with his good hand, and drank a few swallows to put the pain back into its box again.

He noticed Tony standing in the doorway. "Thor says tacos, and he appears."

Tony jiggled is glass. "Tacos and Jack Daniels? Seems reasonable. We ordering lunch?"

Clint hiked a thumb at Thor. "He is. I just ate. I guess Pepper and Tash aren't back yet?"

"Not that I know of." Tony replied, trying to hide his surprise.

Bruce walked behind Clint's sofa to get around him and picked out the half-eaten remains of the orange. Clint ate all right, like a two-year-old pecking at his food. It had been a week, and still they didn't manage to get more than a few mouthfuls of anything into him once or twice per day. Bruce held up the orange for Tony to see the truth behind Clint's declaration, but said nothing. Steve had warned them on one thing. Pointing out Clint's poor appetite made it worse. Leaving him alone helped a little. This was the first morning he left his bed, let alone scavenged for his own meal. Even small improvements deserved recognition.

"I have grown fond of these rolls of meat with globs of green goo. How Midgardians ever came to create the despising thing I will never gauge, but they are delectable."

As Thor finished speaking, the world suddenly and inexplicably sped up. Everything happened very fast. Clint sipped his water, inhaled, and suddenly coughed. Tony lunged forward. He dropped his glass and it shattered against the floor. He forced Clint up a little straighter as the fit took over the archer. From the porch, Steve came in with a towel over his shoulders, and through the front hall, Pepper and Natasha both appeared. Steve reacted much the same as Tony. He dropped everything. Clint tried to push Tony away, but the man refused to move. Clint tried to speak, but couldn't.

Automatically Steve looked at Thor. "We need Haladarrel! Now!"

Thor froze, unsure of what he was even being asked. From their extreme concern, Bruce attempted to push his way through to see whether or not Clint was choking to death. Steve took Clint's water, and set it carelessly aside. He'd turned as white as the curtains as he kneeled beside him. Tony's hands began to shake.

"Breathe, Clint! Just breathe!"

Barton's hand remained tight on Tony's shoulder as he blinked away the forced tears in the corners of his eyes. "It's ok!" he exclaimed, a raspy quality overtaking his voice. "Tony, I swallowed – " he coughed again. "water. The water down the wrong pipe."

Steve leaned back on his haunches, and looked at the spilled water glass as if the thing had been cursed. He swiped a hand across his face, trying to regain some composure. He had not doubts about how much the others were terrified seeing Stark and himself both react so violently to Clint's simple coughing fit. He stood, swayed some, and turned away from the others in an exhaustive effort to compose himself. Flashes of those long nights on Alfheimr, poised over a dying Clint, covered in his blood, flooded back like PTSD. He had to be stronger than those nightmares.

Tony fell back until he sat against the edge of the low wood table. He pushed his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose and scrubbed a hand through his beard. "Water." He said.

"I'm fine, remember? Doctor's cleared me and everything." Clint told him.

Bruce looked between the three of them. "All right. Someone's going to tell me what that was all about!"

"I need some air." Steve announced unexpectedly. As quickly as he came in, he dashed outside again. Tony went only a few seconds behind him.

The others were left to look down on Clint, who shrugged.

"Don't look at me. I was dead. I can't tell you what happened."

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><p>Poor Steve and Tony, I'm sure they won't soon forget everything Clint and they went through. I always felt that Thor had a unique connection with his friends and internalized his deepest emotions.<p>

_Next time: Steve_


	3. Steve

So i just love this introduction of a new key character, and Steve's little heart-to-heart. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Recovery in Cabo<strong>

**Chapter 3: Steve Rogers**

Clint slipped out of the blankets early as the sun peaked through the curtains beside them. Natasha took up the left side of their bed. Her red curls barely peaked out from beneath the pillow she'd squeezed over her face. She'd enjoyed the local nightlife with Banner and Thor. The trio really hit it up, apparently. Thor returned smelling like vodka and lemons, Natasha claimed she'd be dying her hair blond to alter her identity, and Bruce lost his shirt . . . and shoes . . . and many other articles, leading one to believe he'd Hulked out. The recurring theme among them, however, continued to be their awkward happiness. What happened in Cabo, was staying in Cabo.

For Clint, it was another sleep-torn night. He'd had trouble settling in now that no one . . . no wolf . . . stood by his bed at night. He endured sleeping with his hearing aids in, afraid he might miss something, or Southlings would suddenly fall from the ceiling. He felt open, exposed, and most of all, he felt deaf.

When he lost his hearing initially, he had a brief adjusting period right before Arrow came into his life. The wolf gave him not only an endless friendship, but also a sense of security. He never worried about missing calls, alarms, knocks on the door, or people speaking. Arrow had his back, woke him every morning, and stood watch every night. For those two years in his deaf life, Clint wasn't always on guard, because he didn't have to be. An overwhelming insecurity filled him without that blanket of protection. The sun was up, so to avoid sleeping in, he'd rather just get up early. Readjusting his entire life proved more difficult than he could have imagined.

Clint left Natasha in bed, and eased out of the room on his crutches. There were few places he could go, alone, at five thirty in the morning Cabo San Lucas time. Certain things he needed to get started, and this seemed like as good a time as any for him to start.

Clint carefully limped his way across the grass courtyard that separated the Avenger's private Villa from the gym. The glass-encased workout center had been privately rented, courtesy of his black card, for the duration of their stay (however long that proved to be). It sat on a small outcrop of rocks, jutting into the cerulean ocean. He realized afterwards that just reaching the place would be workout enough for his useless lower limbs.

"Mr. Hawkeye?"

Hearing his call-name by an unfamiliar voice ran a chill up his spine. Instantly on alert, and keenly aware he was outside, exposed, and hardly in shape enough to defend himself, he faced the speaker. The woman he saw appeared unassuming enough. She was blonde, distinctly American, with the pretty sort of face that could only be created by a team of highly trained make-up artists at 5:30am.

"Reporter." Clint said without missing a beat.

She flashed a bone white smile that, no doubt, cost her boss a pretty penny. "Christine Everheart, Vanity Fair." She held out her hand toward his.

Clint had decided that morning to slip his right arm into the doctor-prescribed brace. He was glad he had. "Sorry, can't shake."

The hand retracted. "Of course not. There's been a lot of rumors around about where the team went since the White House explosion. San Lucas was an interesting choice, given your recently declassified history in Mexico. Did that have any bearing on your decision to come here?"

Stunned by the line of questioning, Clint shook his head and headed again toward the gym. "I don't talk to the press. Ask Tony."

"I doubt Mr. Stark wants to talk to me, and besides, he doesn't have much of the details revolving around yours and Captain Roger's kidnapping – "

Clint stopped again and looked at Everheart. "Surprising as it may seem, he does."

"So you are confirming that Charles Barton kidnapped two Avengers and held them hostage in Mexico, and the rest of the team was aware of this?"

Clint groaned and started walking again. He did not need this kind of attention this early in the morning. As fast as he tried to go, however, Everheart matched him step for step. Even in six inch heels. Clint spied three cameramen tagging along with her. The hidden cameramen most likely admired their ability to hide in the briar bush on the left, the terrace on his right, and the balcony of the infinity pool dead center. But against the famed Hawkeye, they had no chance at keeping covert.

"Got enough pictures of me yet?" Clint asked.

Everheart waved the lenses off. Clint assumed they were the ones for show. He had no doubt more lurked in the shadows.

"A terrorist exposes the President of the United States as a HYDRA paid agent, half of the Joint Chiefs are under investigation for conspiracy, and the White House goes up in flames. After all that, Earth's mightiest heroes just disappear into a Mexican resort? Why?" She pressed.

They'd reached the gym door, and Clint was forced to stop. He regarded her again.

"Look, I get you want the story of the century, but there isn't one here. I died four times last week, and I'm just looking for a little time off to get back in shape. I haven't even had a chance to bury my brother. We're here if the world needs us. But for right now," He opened the door one-handed. "I'm taking a day off."

He slipped inside and closed the door behind himself. For good measure, he flicked the lock. Everheart tried the handle but, unable to get in, eventually backed away.

"You're a hero, Mr. Hawkeye." She told him through the glass. "I just want the world to know it again."

He didn't turn back. There were more important things to do than get caught up in another media storm. He'd had enough of news headlines after leaving the Avengers last August, and with the summer months almost back on them again, he needed to start looking after himself. First things first, he needed a bow arm.

He slipped the sling over his head, and dropped it to the floor while he grabbed some of his typical weights. His Asgardian bow string had a draw strength over 200lbs. That was nothing for him in general. But with a torn rotator cuff, shattered shoulder blade, and recent arthroscopic debridement, he knew he couldn't push himself too hard. Instead of starting with the usual, he decided to dial down his weights by half and start small. A hundred pound dumbbell might seem excessive to most people, but for him, it was almost too easy.

Or, at least, it used to be.

His left side didn't bother much at the decreased weight, and he quickly went through twenty reps, angling the dumbbell toward the floor, then slowly lifting up and flexing his elbow. It was like pulling back a bowstring with an arrow aimed at the floor. After finishing with the left, he moved to the right. He grabbed the handle, pulled up, and made it four grand inches before a shot of pain cut from his elbow to his spine. He dropped the dumbbell and held his shoulder against his chest. It took a few minutes for the stars to finally clear from his eyes.

"You're up early."

Clint noticed Steve working his key out of the gym's lock. He smiled. Apparently, he either missed Clint's severe inability to lift weights, or he wasn't about to mention it. Clint let his shoulder drop away from him to appear more relaxed.

"Everyone keeps telling me I have to start physical therapy. So here I am."

"Hey, don't let me stop you." Steve said, holding up his hand. He dropped a few bottles of water by the training mats, and approached the bench beside Clint. A bar sat across it with nearly five hundred pounds of circle weights...all of the weights available in that gym. Steve slid onto the bench and pulled the bar up, then went into his own seamless reps.

"Show off." Clint said, smiling.

"You want to spot me?" Steve grinned back.

"Somehow, if that thing decided to come down on your throat, I think I'd just laugh and feel bad for the bar."

They both chuckled at the idea. No doubt Clint had a point. He'd seen the Captain and Thor both bench press nearly a ton on occasions. Steve must have decided it was a light weight day. Clint looked down at his 100lb dumb bell and then at the rack. He'd hate to drop his weight again to a 50lb, but if he couldn't lift it, then what good was just staring? He reached over with his left hand, grabbed the 50lb, and transferred it to his right. Sitting in his lap, the weight seemed all right. He leaned over, braced his left hand on the bench, and hung his right with the 50lb weight to stretch it out. At first, his shoulder didn't complain. Again, he attempted to, slowly, draw the dumb bell up toward his chest. Halfway, his drum-tight muscles refused to release from the scarring mass his healing arm formed. Try as he might to lift the weight higher, the piercing spasm in his shoulder wouldn't budge an inch. He was forced to either drop his hand, and fast, or drop the weight onto the only good foot he had left.

Clint hadn't realized Steve stopped. The captain watched Clint's progress intently. He wanted to see the full extent of where Clint stood, health-wise, which was never easy when it came to the archer. Coming in, he saw how well the 100lb lift went. Clint having less success at 50lbs gave him a clearer picture than a conversation would have.

"If I look over there and see a pity look on your face, I might just punch you in the nose, Cap." Clint said.

"Scout's honor. No Pity."

Clint looked at him.

"Have you worked your knee at all yet?" Steve asked.

"No. I figured I could still shoot my bow out of a wheelchair if it came down to it."

"We're not picking body parts that will and won't recover. All of you is getting to 100% again. It might take a while, but we're going to manage that."

"I knew you were going to go American apple pie on me." Clint replied. He leaned over until his back hit the bench seat and rested there.

"I'll tell you a secret."

"Hmm?"

"I'm not a big fan of pie."

Clint sat up again on his left elbow. "Are you serious? Where's that reporter? This needs to make headlines."

"Don't look so surprised, have you ever actually seen me eat a slice of pie?"

Clint admitted he hadn't. The surprising news rested between them with the dumbbells Clint couldn't lift. For a while, both just looked down, considering the weights.

"Can I admit something?" Clint asked.

Steve tried not to appear shocked. "Yeah, I guess."

"I can't stand Natasha's shoulder massages."

Steve could have done nothing to hold in the laugh he let out. Ever since Clint appeared on the couch back at the Tower, Natasha's hands naturally made their way to his injured arm. The doctors told all of them that Clint had to keep it moving or risk losing it. No doubt she had taken that news to heart.

"Does she know that?" Steve demanded through his guffaw.

"No, and you aren't going to tell her either. I'm already in the dog house from walking into the hostage crisis and getting myself blown up. If you take the one thing she thinks is helping away, I don't know what she'd do to me. She might even try to cook."

Steve shook his head. Some deep dark secrets they shared. Captain America himself hated apple pie, and Clint's coveted shoulder massages day and night caused him more pain than they helped. Steve had been jealous of that attention once upon a time, but that quickly passed.

"I'm sorry I'm not eating." Clint said unexpectedly. He heaved a big sigh and slouched against the bench. "Look, I know you're worried. I know no one wants to talk about it either. I just...It's weird he isn't sitting there."

Steve didn't dare to say a word. He knew better when Clint opened up to not interrupt him.

"We had a routine. I'd go to the cabinet, he'd grab his bowl, I'd feed him first, then he'd eat the entire thing before I even sat down with my stuff. He didn't beg...Actually, that's a lie, he totally begged. I loved when he begged. He'd just sit there with his eyes burning a hole in the side of my head. Half the stuff I got I shared with him because I couldn't resist it. I just...I'm trying, OK?"

Clint didn't share his grief over Arrow's loss easily. When the wolf had died in his arms, his reaction had been to push everyone he loved away and to run off into the woods of Alfheimr alone. Coming back to Earth, he didn't last more than a few hours in the Tower before he went running off to Cabo with Tony. The other Avengers expected him to make a break for it, and were already waiting on the roof with the escape helicopter. If Clint wanted to run, they were going to be there with him. The idea that his poor diet was somehow now related to his grief gave Steve a perspective he hadn't considered. When Clint and Arrow were out there, alone together, Clint's diet suffered from pure neglect. The Avenger was so focused on his mission he simply didn't have the time or the upkeep to stay physically healthy. He also had to change his features, blend in, hide in a world where his face was on every news screen. It was an old spy trick Steve knew well from war time. When peace came, some found it hard to break those old habits.

Clint revealed a dark truth about himself. Steve saw it as his massive step toward rebuilding the friendship with his team. Clint reached out. That deserved a parade.

"I'm not pushing you." Steve told him, gently. "In here, I might. You need a kick once in a while to break through that hard head of yours. You know what's good for you, and even though I'd rather spend the next six weeks stuffing you full of every 24oz steak I can find, I'm not going to do that. No one will."

"Don't let Pepper get me a puppy either. I know, out of everyone, she'll be the one thinking about it."

"It's funny you say that." Steve replied. He recalled the conversation between himself, Bruce, and Pepper just the night before. She'd seen an abandoned and emaciated mutt in town that no doubt needed a home. Why not bring him back to the villa? Or to the U.S.? They even weighed the benefits of such a move, but hearing it from Clint's own mouth made Steve a little more secure in his decision against the plan.

He leaned over, picked up the weights Clint apparently wasn't going to use, and replaced them on the rack. He motioned to the bench press. "Get on. Let's start here. I'll take it to fifty pounds. After this, you're going to start working that knee. Then we'll try the small weights."

If anyone knew how to create a personalized work out plan, it was Captain America. Clint didn't question him. He slid onto the opposite bench, and with Steve as his spotter, the two began day one of the Avenger's long road to recovery.

* * *

><p>Losing such a close loved one as Arrow can't be an easy thing to cope with. Of Course Pepper would want to get him a puppy.<p>

I was watching a show the other day called "dogs of War" and the relationship between those veterans and their service dogs is everything i wrote about Clint and Arrow's attachment. they really were each others whole lives.

_Next time: Bruce_

_SURPRISE! Its finals week here in vet school, so you know what that means? Procrasti-writing! Working on the newest stories now. hope to have something to show for it by christmas!_


	4. Bruce

In which we find how connected Clint truly is to the entire team.

And, an interview.

* * *

><p><strong>Recovery in Cabo<strong>

**Chapter 3: Bruce**

The warm sun threatened to bake Clint from the outside in, but it wasn't enough to chase him into the water or the cool shade of the villa. His pale skin had been indoors long enough. It was time to start branching out, enjoy the sunlight again. Thor and Steve reclaimed their game of Frisbee in the surf, and spent their time performing acrobatic feats that rivaled any gymnast. Tony slept in with Pepper, not wishing to be roused before ten a.m. at the earliest. Already noon, they'd missed that mark by a long shot. Natasha lounged a few chairs down, with an umbrella that could double as a parachute, and a Pina colada.

Since he was required to RICE his legs (rest, ice, compress, elevate) for the next six weeks to six months, he went for the hammock instead. He had water well within reach and something Steve made in a blender he found slightly appetizing. According to the Captain, he meant to put hair on his chest. Clint replied by pointing out that he occasionally went to lengths to prevent that.

Something hit Clint in the belly, and he launched up at the impact. He grabbed the object and found his fist wrapped around a newspaper. He looked up at the apparent delivery boy; Banner.

"Some wake-up call I didn't order." Clint said, unfolding the paper in his lap.

"You're telling me. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled out of the rainforest, in nothing but some stretched out boxers, and saw that on the news stand in San Juan." Bruce replied. He looked around, found himself a chair and dragged it over.

Clint used his good arm to shift himself back up into a seated position. He checked the paper, skimming the key pieces.

_INJURED IN EXPLOSION, GRIEVING HAWKEYE RECOVERS IN MEXICO_

"San Juan? New Mexico? I thought you and Thor went to go play throw the boulder."

"We did, and then I . . . I mean the other guy . . . turned into the boulder. What happens in Cabo..."

Beneath the headline, a photo of Clint, coached on by Steve, bench-pressing the lowest amount he'd ever tolerated on a bar. A few other photos accompanied the first. One showed Clint hobbling across the sand on his crutches. A second had an intimate moment between Bruce and he, where the doctor worked his shoulder loose, and still others. He didn't have to look at the courtesy of column to know where the photos came from.

"Everheart. That magazine reporter. She popped out of the woodwork the other day when I went to the gym. She must have enjoyed that little interview." Clint didn't bother to read the article. Instead, he dropped the paper on the sand between them.

"You spoke with her?" Bruce asked.

Clint shrugged one shoulder. It was starting to be a habit. "Didn't give her much. Enough for a headline though I guess."

"She didn't say where we were, thankfully. But once news of this breaks, the press is going to follow you around like you're Brad Pitt."

"They did that before too." Barton pointed out.

"It's weird."

"I know. I guess I'm getting used to it, though."

"I'm not used to it."

"Been running from things for a while. Be nice to just sit and pretend nothing exists out there." Clint leaned back again and made an effort of raising his knee a little higher. Of all of them, Banner continued to admonish him on proper altitudes for swollen limbs.

"I hid in Alaska, Canada, the Maldives, and Calcutta. I think I beat you on the run away point." Bruce replied. He picked up the article, shook out the sand, and perused it again. There was nothing particularly defamatory or groundbreaking in it. The entire planet got a good hard look at exactly who Clint Barton was when Barney took over the White House and publicly displayed every Barton family secret. Even Bruce had to readjust his opinion of Clint after seeing the news. So much had been revealed that he couldn't have imagined. Apparently, that was just the start of Clint's troth of surprises in store for him.

"Yeah, but wherever you went, I found you." Clint replied.

"Natasha found me in Calcutta." Bruce pointed out.

"Did she?"

Bruce dropped the paper and stared at Clint to see what sort of expression the archer had. Clint was serious. "No, you were zombie-fide by Loki. I distinctly remember Natasha showing up in my hut."

Clint continued to rest back with one hand under his head. "Uh huh. Bruce, how long were you in Calcutta?"

"Three months."

Clint opened one eye and stared at him. "Uh huh. When you left the Tower and were determined to never come back, who did SHIELD send out to find you? Natasha or me?"

That, Bruce could not argue. He'd had a fling with a woman once who turned out to be an undercover HYDRA agent, the first one to come out with her true identity. She became the catalyst that started Clint on the undercover mission Bruce asked him to leave SHIELD for. That conversation happened on a beach in New Jersey one year before. Looking back, it was amazing to see how far Bruce's split second request took them.

"Why did they send you out to find me?" Bruce asked, genuinely curious.

"It might surprise you to know that I'm called Hawkeye for more than just my incredible aim. I told Steve, I don't know that you ever heard about it, but when Tony first went missing in the desert, I was sent in with my team to find him."

"No, I hadn't heard that."

"I'm good at finding people. I was on his trail for a few weeks when Coulson pulled me off the case to go to Budapest. Natasha had run off, gone rogue, and he wanted me to bring her back in. It was the rest of my team on board that helicopter with Rhodes which picked Tony up."

Bruce swung his legs over the side of his chair and leaned forward. "Oh, so is this the famed Budapest story everyone speculates on? What really happened in Budapest?"

"Don't get too excited. It's not that interesting. I say I let her take me, she says she grabbed me by force. But whatever way you read it, I ended up shot, handcuffed to a chair in her basement hideout, and tortured for a while."

"Red in her ledger. She always said she didn't love you. That she owed you a debt." Bruce cut a sideways glance to where Natasha had abandoned her sun bathing. She sat, poised on Steve's shoulders, and grappled with Pepper, sitting on Thor's. The entire four person group went careening into the ocean.

"She felt guilty about it afterward." Clint affirmed softly. "Coulson found me. With my good word and his, SHIELD took her back. It wasn't easy. For a while, she had the same reputation stuck to her that Loki branded me with. I partnered with her because I trusted her."

"Despite what she did to you?"

"I know when I can rely on someone. Natasha might be difficult, but she's loyal to her friends."

That, Bruce could not refute. The people closest to Clint had copious experience with the infallible nature of his heart. He didn't trust easy, but he knew who to put his faith in, and who not to. Like a human lie detector, he had a sense of those around him. Sometimes, his willingness to forgive got him neck deep into trouble. His brother, Natasha. Surely there were others in the world he'd put his life on the line to protect, whether they deserved it or not.

"OK. So SHIELD sent you to find Stark. When she went rogue, they sent you to find her. After that, you tracked me down?"

"The first time, yeah. I think you were in… Bali? Or was it Sri Lanka?"

Bruce leaned back, stunned Clint had such exceedingly detailed information about his whereabouts. "Yeah, maybe Sri Lanka."

Clint reached over, picked up the Captain America protein shake, and sipped from the straw. "Sri Lanka. You were there for two and a half weeks. Then you took a boat, stayed at sea for a week on a fishing charter, sailed for Thailand, stayed on foot for two months, and then made your way to Calcutta. That all sound familiar?" He glanced over again to watch the news sink in. "Scary, isn't it? I've been tailing members of this team for almost eight years."

"I never even saw you." Bruce said, driving his memory back to the times Clint so accurately described.

"You Hulked out in Islamabad after an Armed Forces splinter team came across your location. That was my fault. I thought my radio line was secure when I contacted Coulson with my mission update, and I turned out to be wrong. General Ross piggy-backed my line and drew a bead on you. Fury refused to give me a go-ahead to take the Armed Forces garrison down. Back then, SHIELD wanted to play nice with the other military branches. I lost your trail for a few days before picking it back up a thousand miles Southeast in . . ." Clint struggled to remember the name of the city.

"It was probably Bhutan." Bruce supplied.

Clint shrugged. "Possibly. Anyway, you made your way south, and I figured you were either headed for Bangladesh or Balsore. You went with Calcutta, so it's right in between."

The way he wrapped up the news in a perfectly knit ball stunned the physicist. He'd known Clint intimately for three years, and in all that time the spy could still come out with information that sent his head spinning. Placing that information into the stack of Clint's already known assets created an ever expanding interest in the archer.

After leaving Calcutta, Clint followed Coulson to New Mexico where Thor's hammer was found. At that time, Natasha worked undercover in Stark Industries as Tony, and then Pepper's, personal secretary. Thor returned to Asgard, Clint was pulled off the New Mexico assignment, and stationed at the tesseract base where some tech began to disappear. As important as the research there became, and with Selvig now pulled into the research, security became paramount in everyone's minds. Clint, the Hawkeye and people finder, rooted out the first branch of HYDRA then. He had just worked into digging deeper when Loki struck. The rest was Avengers history.

When Bruce ran off, Fury sent Clint to find him because he knew Clint was the best at it. When a SHIELD team went missing in Libya, who did they call when all else failed? Hawkeye. Despite Fury wanting to keep the truth of the mission, and the apparently undead Phil Coulson out of Avengers knowledge, he risked sending Barton in because he knew the job would get done. Thor, even, wasn't immune to asking Clint's help in a missing person case. Fandral, during a mission to find Loki's portal on Asgard, had disappeared, and Thor went out of his way to bring Clint in as the bloodhound who tracked the man down.

"It's strange how right you are. I never thought back to it before." Bruce admitted thoughtfully.

"It's why you asked me to do it, isn't it?"

Bruce looked at him, and Clint's blue eyes stole his attention.

"That's why you asked me to leave, and why I was the best one to go under cover out of all of us." Clint clarified. "I find people. I see through them. I'm more than just a guy that's great at using a Paleolithic-era weapon, and people forget that. You didn't."

Bruce wondered if Clint's assessment of his own decision proved valid or not. He wanted it to be true. If anything, it was food for thought. Bruce rolled the paper a little and tapped Clint with it as he moved to go back inside. "Your fan club's on her way over. Want me to scare her off?"

Barton twisted around to see Everheart stalking across the sand to get to him. He grinned a little as he watched the struggle. "Nah, let her be. I've got an idea about this press thing."

The doctor couldn't be sure Clint knew what he was doing, but he preferred to leave now rather than find himself on another front page. He headed up the beach and disappeared into the villa. The doors drew shut behind him.

Clint watched him retreat before gauging the distance of the other Avengers. Thor had run off toward the pool with Pepper in hot pursuit. Steve grabbed Tony's girl by the waist and threatened to dive into the water with her. Natasha came up behind him and swept out the Captain's legs. Steve hit the sand, Natasha rescued Pepper, and together the women drove Thor into the water. Clint chuckled to himself as he watched the antics. He couldn't remember the last time they'd enjoyed this type of freedom, especially all together.

"You know, I'm usually happy until you show up." He sensed the shadow poised at his side, and addressed the reporter before she opened her mouth. Clint turned slightly and looked at Everheart.

There was a microphone taped beneath her blouse on the left side, and an auricular receiver in the right ear hidden beneath her hair. She wore an oversized teal bag, which might have contained a camera lens if this was 1985. But Clint figured the true recorder was laced in the brand new Luis Vuitton sunglasses hanging in the V of her top.

"You know, trying to interview a spy with tech like that strapped to you is a little ridiculous, right? Have you even seen Mission Impossible?"

She flushed. "If you want me to take it off, I will."

Clint held up his good hand to stop the tirade ahead of the storm. "Actually I prefer for you to keep everything on. I know exactly how your first interview with Tony went. Sit down for a second."

Everheart's jaw dropped.

Clint waited. When she still didn't move, he motioned to the chair beside him. "Look, this is a limited invite that's going to shut down in five seconds when I come to my senses – "

She scrambled in the deep sand to circle his hammock, and planted herself on the lounge chair Banner evacuated. The teal bag hit the sand, and she tousled through it to emerge with a pen and paper. Clint didn't miss the four tape recorders all set for spoken word either. Apparently, she anticipated on getting lucky, or at least planting something in the sand around him to sift for later.

"I have some rules for this." Clint said first.

"Sounds like this isn't your first interview." Everheart said. She looked up from the paper. Her name, date, time, and location were already written in. She was fast.

"You'd be wrong. But I've been interrogated plenty, and to me, it's the same thing." He corrected. Clint carefully lifted out of the mesh trough and eased his feet into the sand. He motioned to the next closest lounge chair. "First, bring that over."

Everheart left everything behind, kicked off her fashionista sandals, and launched across the way to retrieve it. By the time she dragged it over, Clint had just managed to stand on the ankle cast.

"My crutches are inside—no! Get back over here, you aren't going in there." Clint called her back the minute she dashed for the villa doors. He held up his arm. "Just get over on my left for a second. I'm not going to lean too hard. Get me close enough, and I'll sit myself down."

Everheart did as he instructed and, cradled against his bare chest, they gently walked the few steps to the waiting beach chair. Clint pulled his arm from around her shoulders, grabbed the armrest, and one-handedly lowered himself down. Bruce's abandoned lounge chair was close enough for him to put his feet up on, so he did. Everheart sat beside them.

"I don't like laying down when I'm being interrogated. It's an old war thing. That, or I spent too much time around psychiatrists. And, before you ask, you can't write that."

Everheart disappointedly crossed out a few lines. She brought her pen up to the corner of her mouth and regarded the Avenger. He seemed so . . . normal in person.

His left leg had an intricate, molded cast from the first knuckle of his toes to the top of his -for medical records told her he suffered a fracture to his second and third metacarpals and talus. He had a fist-sized purple bruise over his left knee, and a smaller dime-shaped one above that. His left leg appeared normal from foot to calf. A heavy-duty brace, complete with traction gears, immobilized him at the knee. She could make out the white bandages occasionally dotted in red beneath the brace. Injury or surgery? Flight plans mentioned a team of crack physicians took an impromptu vacation to this exact resort ten days ago. More than likely he had surgery. Knee surgery. ACL tear seemed plausible.

Moving up, her trained eye analyzed him like a string of editorial photographs waiting for print. His shorts started mid-thigh, where another bruise appeared. The band of his trunks cut his abdomen in half. In the center of his chest was a blue/green outline, roughly the same shape as a MAC-10 gun stock. He'd been hit there with one the minute he stepped onto the White House lawn. To the right, she noticed an odd depression in the normal flow of his ribs that she couldn't quite explain. Either he'd crushed an entire side in, or never had them to begin with.

Eyes went up again, noting the mass of scars that disfigured his chest like a crossword puzzle. His left shoulder seemed normal enough, but the right, she knew to be off. Up close, Everheart saw the three taped-on bandages. She recognized the familiar locations for an arthroscopy according to her research. Half of the surgical team were joints specialists. Apparently, his knee wasn't the only item of interest to them.

Lastly, she looked at his face. He had a scar one wouldn't notice from far away. It reached beneath his left eye, crossed his nose, went right down the cheek, and into his ear. Where it ended, his ear too looked different. He'd had reconstructive surgery at some point to recreate the shape. The incision on either side of his head, where his auricular implants were inserted, had long ago receded into his hair.

"Enjoying the view?" He asked. Her assessment took her less than a few seconds, but Clint was used to people sizing him up the way she did.

"You just aren't what I expected." She admitted, and rolled her shoulders. "You said you had some rules? Before I get my hopes up and write down everything you say, would you care to tell me what those are?"

Clint looked away for a moment. She turned in place to see who stole his attention away, and noticed Tony Stark standing on the deck behind them. He'd walked out soundlessly and rather than address her, spoke to Clint through sign language. The archer signed something back, and Tony disappeared inside again.

"What was that?" She asked.

"He wanted to know whether or not I wanted lunch outside. Before that, he asked if I wanted him to drag you to Chihuahua and drop you in a coffee field. I said no to both."

"He wouldn't do – "

Clint arched his eyebrow.

Everheart nodded. "Never mind. Yes he would do that."

"I've never seen him sign the word Chihuahua, so thanks for that. It was pretty funny." Clint chuckled to himself. He indicated the glass of water he left beside the hammock, and Everheart handed it to him. He took a few mouthfuls, and then set it on his thigh. "Rules. The rules are, you aren't publishing anything that I tell you until we leave here."

The blonde nearly launched herself out of the seat. Certainly she started swearing internally. For her sake, and the scoop of the century, she kept it in. Clint admired that little granule of self-control. Perhaps his plan would work out after all.

"You can have your interview. Only with me, unless someone else decides to talk to you. You aren't to follow me around, jump out of any bushes, and no hidden camera tricks. No newspaper articles, anonymous publications, or selling off the photographs you take."

Everheart dropped her pen and crossed her arms. "I'm a reporter, Mr. B – "

Clint leaned forward very quickly and stopped her before she said the word. "That's rule number two. I am not Mr. Barton."

She tilted her head slightly in brewing annoyance. "Fine, Mr. Hawkeye. I'm a reporter. What you're telling me to do, is interview you and never tell anyone about what you say. How exactly does that work out?"

"Perfectly." He relaxed again, but a twinge in his knee made him hitch. He slowly massaged the side of his leg. "You get the exclusive. You publish it after we go back home. I came here for some privacy. News gets out we're here, and every reporter in every country is going to be interrupting the little paradise I'm looking for. I could do this the easy way and have Thor just fly us off someplace else. But, I'm giving you an opportunity."

The idea made a few laps around her brain. Clint waited for her to come to terms with his offering, and occupied that time by watching the others. Pepper and Steve decided to sit out a few rounds of whatever game they conjured for themselves, and Natasha proceeded to drown Thor. A smile crept onto his face. Soon enough, he'd be able to join in on the rough house.

"OK."

Clint returned his attention to the reporter. For a moment, he'd forgotten she was there.

She picked up her pen and notebook again. "I get the exclusive, you talk to no one else. I sit on the location, the details, and the photos, but just until you check out of the hotel. That's a pretty steep price for my editor, so I want one more thing."

"Depends what it is." He told her.

"I want a photo shoot."

Clint laughed. He shook his head a little. Him? In a photo shoot? The last time he did something like that, it was for a party he crashed at the British Ambassador's office in D.C. while working on his HYDRA leads. Legitimate photo shoot? He was supposed to have one with the other Avengers during the Battle of New York fundraiser Tony hosted, but he came down with a bad case of the flu, and then got shot at. He was a spy then. Still working the shadows. Having his face out there put him at risk.

"Don't laugh! You have your terms, I have mine. I want a photo shoot. Right now, whether you know it or not, you are the new James Bond or Jason Bourne. Everyone wants to know what happened when you left the Avengers. Everyone has their theories. I want a chance to show everyone the real side of Hawkeye."

She was tenacious, he gave her that. The last time she had this kind of pull, though, Tony ended up in bed with her. He had half a mind to give her what she wanted, minus that last idea. By then, he'd most likely be on two legs again. No one asked how long they planned to stay in Cabo. That was Clint's decision, and the entire team waited on him. No one pressured him, asked him, or wondered out loud. They only enjoyed the time together for once.

"Fine." Clint agreed. "Rule number three, if I find you in my bedroom, or any other random part of my temporary house in an attempt to repeat that Tony Stark spread you did, Natasha won't kill you. But you'll wish she had."

She didn't appear rattled on the outside, but he could tell by the furtive little look she shot across the beach that his warning hit home.

"Is that you confirming a relationship with Agent Romanov?"

Clint smiled. With the ground rules laid out, it was time to start the interview.

* * *

><p>He's such a snarky guy, isn't he? I love it.<p>

_Next time: Tony_

_the next 2 chapters are probably my favorites. First Tony, then Natasha, and then, its the end!_


	5. Tony

Oh Tony...this is gonna hurt.

* * *

><p><strong>Recovery in Cabo<strong>

**Chapter 5: Tony**

The sun and heat eventually chased him inside. A strange feeling also caught him unawares. Hunger. With the afternoon slipping away from him and the others already inside, Clint decided it was time to give up on talking for a while and go back to enjoying his life again. He couldn't get back to the villa without his crutches, and he wasn't about to send the reporter in after them. Fortuitously, Pepper seemed to read his mind. She appeared on the porch, in her cotton bottoms rolled up to her knees and a short pink tank top.

"~Do you need a rescue?~" She signed to him.

He lifted a thumb.

Pepper went back into the room for a minute and returned with his crutches. She strode over the sand in her bare feet and pink painted toenails.

"Looks like someone's done in." she said, interrupting whatever conversation Everheart tried to restart.

"I think I'm being rescued." Clint replied. He held out a hand and took the crutches she offered.

Everheart stood, tucking her second notebook into her bag and her pen behind one ear. She held out a hand in case he needed help up, but Barton bypassed it. He rested his feet in the sand and swung himself up. He didn't bother to say goodbye, most likely the woman would check into the hotel somehow and planned to dog his every step for however long he decided to stay in Mexico. He missed the frantically mouthed match between the reporter and Pepper behind his back. Potts picked up a scoop of sand, dropped it in the woman's handbag, and jogged to catch up to Clint before Everheart sought retribution. After an explosive lashing by the Vanity Fair writer when Pepper quit as Stark's CEO, they had yet to make amends. Clint slid the glass door open and turned. Pepper came up, and indicated that he should go in first. Everheart flashed a finger at her. Pepper returned it, and inside she went.

Thor, Steve, Tony, and Natasha all sat in a ring around the flat screen television. Two of them wore headsets, all four held game controllers. The latest version of "Attack on New York" hit the Xbox circles only a few weeks ago. No doubt they'd have the entire game conquered by their third day in.

Steve briefly nodded at his entrance. "Hey, Clint. You want in?"

"Not just yet. Who's playing the Hulk?" He glided toward the kitchen, analyzing the screen as he went.

"I am." Natasha announced, tilting her game controller to the left as if it would somehow help. "Nobody else can do the combinations fast enough."

"These puny keys have not the gusto for the power in my fingers." Thor complained, tilting his controller to the left, along with his entire upper half.

"Ditto." Steve replied. He sat, then stood, then sat again as a miniature Captain America went flying through a plate glass window.

"I am at level forty-five right now." Tony said as if it was explanation enough. He and Clint put the most time in already, and their character levels were neck and neck. Currently, the only other player even close to them was Natasha at thirty three. The Hulk, due to his incredibly demanding play style, came dead last at level twelve.

"If we don't build up his level to twenty five, then we won't be able to control him when the portal opens." Natasha explained, struggling to keep the Hulk on task and walking a straight line through a brick building.

"I'll take a crack at him later if Banner's in the mood." Clint replied. He pulled open the fridge and browsed the contents inside.

Pepper slapped Tony's arm. As the game played on, the controllers stopped pressing keys for a few brief moments as they all turned to watch Clint inside the fridge. It was the first time they'd even seen him open it. No one spoke. They held their breath. Barton emerged with Steve's leftovers from last night's Bella Loca.

"Forks?" He asked.

Pepper slapped Tony again, and suddenly the players were back to tapping their game so he wouldn't notice the curiosity. She bounded over and pulled open a drawer for him. Clint picked one out, shoved it through the top of his Styrofoam container, and went back into the living room with it. He picked a spot between Steve and Natasha, since the ottoman sat in front of them. Thor reached over and removed his drink, sat it on the floor, and pushed the furniture closer to Clint. The archer gently put his feet up again.

"Ice?" Pepper offered.

"Please." He replied.

"Steve, if you don't get your spangly pants over to Thor's section right now, I think our alien brother is going to cross the Rainbow Bridge!" Tony said. He shifted his character's position, dove through the sky, and dive-bombed a Chitauri nest. Thor's health wasn't the only one in trouble. If Tony didn't find a relay station soon, he was toast.

"Coming, coming! I've got this grid in my way!" Steve tried to steer around the in-game blockade without much success . . . until the rampaging Hulk flattened it, and Steve, in the same hit.

"Sorry, he's only level thirteen right now." Natasha said, trying to wrangle the Hulk.

"I think I'm dead." Steve announced.

Clint popped the lid on the stolen food and looked at the contents. It seemed formidable; half chicken caesar salad, half pepperoni calzone. He wasn't going to finish all of it.

"Your man has not fought his last. See, he yet lives with the blinking red light of 5 percent life!"

The Hulk crashed by Steve again, trampling him underfoot.

"OK, now I'm definitely dead."

Something, habit maybe, made Clint look around the room before he decided to eat. He was forgetting something, wasn't he? He didn't do a step. He didn't feed Arrow first. Dogs before people. That was the rule. Arrow loved pizza. He never had calzone, but licking pepperoni slices was one of his favorite things. Clint couldn't eat this. He had to feed Arrow first. Where was Arrow?

With his character twitching lifeless in the dirt, Steve dropped his controller onto the ottoman by Clint's cast. He reached over, picked up the calzone from Clint's stolen dinner box, broke the food in half, and proceeded to eat one part of it. The entire room prepared to rail against Steve for daring to eat the precious morsels Clint finally picked out. Snapped out of his thoughts, Clint looked at the Captain with a mix of total confusion and possessive antagonism.

"Mine." Clint said.

"It was mine first." Steve replied with an uncharacteristic chauvinism.

Clint picked up the other half and took a bite. Steve ate. Clint ate. Steve grabbed Clint's fork, and stole some of his salad back. Clint picked up a handful of croutons one hand and popped them into his mouth. It was like watching two dogs fight over the same bone, but it created a peculiar dynamic as well. Clint was eating. Not about to interrupt the culinary breakthrough, the others refocused on their game anew. Tony still had a relay station to find, Thor needed to dodge the Hulk, who rampaged toward him, and Natasha fought to A-B-B-B-Y-A-X-A-A her way to level twenty-five.

Banner returned from the bathroom and noticed Clint on the couch. He went to pat him on the shoulder, but one glance at the eating match waging between Steve and the archer made Bruce think twice. He returned to his seat on the floor beside Thor.

Natasha handed him back his controller. "Level fifteen. You can walk a straight line, punch things on command, and WATCH OUT FOR THE BOMB!"

All four screens, including the one hovering over the Captain's deceased body, erupted in flames as the Chitauri grenade intercepted the propane factory. A short film proceeded, showing all the Avengers falling in the field of battle together.

Thor and Natasha both shot a look at Tony.

"My friend, was it not you who mentioned he could distract wayward arsenal before its launching us to our utter doom?"

Tony held up a finger. "Yes, Thunderstruck, but that was before I ran out of Stark-Force and had to find a power relay station to recharge."

"I had a charge ring in the Hulk's hand!" Natasha cried. "Next time, say something!"

"Reload it. Come on. If I can walk a straight line, and Hulk can smash things now, I wanna do it." Bruce said, tapping his useless, non-main controller, keys. Natasha grabbed Steve's controller and signed herself in. Tony reloaded the game, and the level started over again.

Pepper appeared with three packs of ice. Clint temporarily placed the rest of his food in Natasha's lap, to protect it from Steve, and arranged the ice between his three injuries. With the relatively opened design of his 3D printed cast, he could continue to stave off his pain and swelling for the most part. Pepper slipped his shoulder bag into a pillow case and draped it against his back where it did the most good. Properly arranged, Clint reclaimed his plate of food.

"Thanks." He whispered to Steve.

The Captain nudged his leg slightly without replying. After Clint revealed his aversion to food being related to the lack of Arrow's watching eyes, Steve decided to branch out into a new type of therapy. Clint was relentlessly competitive. Steve didn't know if challenging Clint over the meal would result in the stingy archer eating, but he was glad when the idea paid off.

Overtime, the game progressed past the bedtime of most of the Avengers. Bruce bowed out first, followed swiftly by Thor and Steve both. Natasha relinquished her remote for Clint to play again, and didn't pick another up as they became available. Pepper slipped away after attempting, and failing, to drag Tony away. After she left, Natasha suddenly began to feel like the extra wheel.

She rested on Clint's right side, her hand working the cool flesh of his shoulder beneath his temporarily removed ice pack. Beside the general conversation linked to their game play, Tony and Clint didn't speak to each other. There was a peculiar discomfort between them that Natasha had sensed since the moment they came back from Alfheimr together. Little things seemed to perpetuate it, like Clint's lack of eating, or heaven forbid he _coughed._ Stark was drinking more too. There was a conversation sitting in the air between them left unsaid, and they weren't about to bring that up with her around.

"I'm heading to bed." Natasha said, getting to her feet. Clint made to stand, but she left before he had a chance to.

Clint raised an eyebrow at Tony. "That seem weird to you?"

"It's three in the morning. Maybe she's afraid we'll take off again." Tony replied.

"I think I'm planted here for a while."

As digital Iron Man blew through a window, shot across the sky, picked up a digital Clint, and headed for Loki's portal, Tony quickly glanced at his friend. He was surprised to catch Clint staring back at him. The little digital Iron Man crashed into the "S" in Stark Tower, ending their round.

"Crap." Tony said, leaning forward. The end-of-play video continued as the overhead camera hovered around the bodies of the downed Avengers. Clint and he waited in the blue/grey illumination of the LED screen while the game reloaded. "You're distracting me."

"It's my smashing good looks. I can't help it."

Tony snorted and looked over again. "It's kinda masochistic to be sitting here repeatedly watching ourselves die in the New York battle, isn't it?"

"We all need therapy, yeah. You can't exactly be sane to do what we do here."

"I guess if I ever have a bad day with golden-boy, I can just come in here and run him into a wall a few dozen times."

"Or let the Hulk smash him."

"This game needs elves."

Clint was surprised at that. "Really? Thought you had enough of them on Alfheimr. King Rinon invited me back. I was going to bring you along, but I didn't know that you'd even want to."

Tony set his controller down. "No, I'll go back. I wouldn't mind going someplace other than the middle of the woods or south in general. In fact, let's just stay really, really far north." He smiled a little, considering the idea for once. "I think Pepper would like to see it."

"I'm not letting Natasha anywhere near Linnor, so count her out. You better not let Pep fly off with him either. We might both lose our girls. Some guys are just too pretty."

They both sat and considered that for a while. If given the choice of going to Asgard or Alfheimr again, they would have chosen Alfheimr in an instant. There was something about that realm which simply robbed one of all their cares, much more so than on Asgard. The elven society itself fascinated them. Tony may not openly admit it, but some fandom part of his mind wanted to root around the Blueskin Mountain ranges for Legolas himself. Thinking on that time brought back a fear Tony couldn't escape, a fear for Clint's life, their friendship, and losing someone close to him after waiting for so long to get Clint back. Clint may joke about his near death Alfheimr experience, but Tony was sure the archer shared the same thump in his heart at the memory.

"I really thought we'd lost you." Tony said. "I gave up on you. I don't think Steve told you that, and I know I definitely didn't. But when I looked over at that couch, and you were staring back at me with dead eyes . . ." Tony shook his head. He sat back against the couch, picked up his neglected beer, and rubbed a hand across his face. He doubted that the sight of Clint, facing him with a cool, stiffening body, and a stare glazed in looming death, would ever leave him. Though he may be better about facing the tremors that came from the battle of New York, a new panic overtook him at that memory. It may not have happened for real, to its fullest extent, he may not have faced the death of his teammate outright. But what if one day he did? Would it be Tony's fault, again, for letting the archer walk away?

"I'm not dying, Tony. Stop giving me the fish eye." Clint said.

Tony sipped his beer, but didn't turn away. "Easier said than done."

"I know." Clint replied. He set his own controller down. Apparently they were about to have a "talk". This must have been why Natasha abandoned him. She tended to see things like this before he did. There were a lot of things still brewing between Tony and him, and words still unsaid since the day Clint walked out. He hadn't planned on this coming up between them so soon though. He didn't know where to start.

"You said the same thing." Tony took up the conversation first.

"The same thing?" Clint asked.

"I know when you were in SHIELD, or let's just say your entire life, you never relied on anyone to get you out of a situation. No exit strategy, you always could trust if you got yourself into something, you could get yourself out. Am I right?"

Clint nodded. "Who else did I have? Coulson? Natasha? Most of the time, they were in it with me. The calvary saved me once."

"But it's not like you could ever just pick up your phone and call your big brother and expect him to show up on a minute's notice?" Tony clarified.

"No. I couldn't."

"Have you ever had that in your life?"

Clint shifted on the sofa. He and Tony occasionally had deep conversations, but this one was leading down a trail which was making him itch. He knew Tony wasn't referring to a single time period post-Avengers assignment. He didn't have to answer, because there was nothing really to say.

"And then you joined this team. For some reason, one day you realized there were six other insane people out there who did the same thing you do. And for a second, you finally decided to rely on them. On me. I remember the first time I let you down. You were in Mexico then too. Not far from here. You wanted my help, and I told you no. I never realized it was the first time you ever asked that from someone."

"It wasn't the first time ever." Clint whispered. "Close. Could count it on one hand."

"Then you needed help to get out of that plane we wrecked. You did everything you could to keep me from risking my life back then. You were bleeding and you were dying and the only thing that kept you alive was my sock and my shirt but still you tried to stop me. You didn't think you deserved to be saved. That's what you told Pepper and I. You said the same thing when we broke you out of that base, in Mexico, after Barney tortured you. I only tuned in to that pattern after that constant argument on Alfheimr between us. The one where you ask for my help, and I don't show up. Pattern familiar?"

Clint had to admit it was. "I said that to you during our fight outside Stark Tower too."

"Don't think I forgot about that either." Tony said.

Clint held his hand out, motioned to Tony's beer with the open palm, and waited for his friend to fork it over. After a few sips, he set it on his knee. The cold felt good through the healing flesh. "All right. I guess if we're having this conversation, I'll be honest. But this doesn't leave the two of us. Agreed?"

Tony looked around. They'd long been abandoned by the others, so it was obvious that, unless the other Avengers were hiding in the wings or recording the conversation, nothing was leaving the two of them. Just in case, though, Stark got out of his chair, walked over, and sat beside Clint. He took his beer back, sipped it, and replaced it on Clint's knee.

"My mother . . . we called her Madre, since she was straight-off-the-boat Italian, and that's what she liked. She was the one that said that to me."

"She wasn't worth saving?" Tony asked, trying to clarify it in his mind. How did that even make sense? Clint rarely spoke of his mother. In fact, Tony didn't even know the woman was Italian. The only family member he'd ever heard Clint speak in depth about was his father, who he formed the highest level of resent for. He knew Clint's parents died in a drunk driving accident.

"I asked her once." Clint said quietly. "I asked her why she didn't leave the old man. He beat her when he drank. We all knew it. She told me she wasn't worth saving. I never forgot that."

"But you are – "

Clint drank a little, passed it over, waited, and took it back. "You tell me that. Pepper says it too. I know, trust me, I do know I'm worth it. I'm not suicidal, I've never been. I don't think I'm useless, or worthless, or anything like that. It's just . . . I never thought I could rely on anyone beside myself in this life. I loved my mother. As screwed up as our life was, she was all I had. Barney could never have been called a saint. Even as kids, he liked being the punk older brother. But Madre was mine. If she wasn't worth saving, if her life meant nothing, what good was mine? I wondered about that back then, and sometimes, I guess I go back there when times get tough and ask myself the same question."

"My daddy never loved me, and Steve's under the impression Hydra hired a hit squad on my parents." Tony replied.

Clint looked over. "Our lives are seriously screwed up."

"You're telling me. Any other secrets you need to shove off your chest?" Tony picked up the empty beer bottle, and set it on the ottoman by Clint's cast. He got up and went rooting through the fridge for a second. With his back turned, and in search of a bottle opener, Clint opened up again.

"I'm not sleeping."

That wasn't exactly a surprise. Most of the Avengers, whether they were aliens who normally didn't sleep, or scientists who lived on caffeine and nightmares, usually spent most of their time in a quasi-in-bed-awake-state they occasionally referred to as "sleeping". Tony had been a part of the latter category since crossing into his first alien portal. He decided this was a two-beer story, and picked a second one out of the fridge. He returned to the couch, and passed Clint a bottle.

"I haven't slept more than five hours in..." Tony checked his wrist watch. "four days. Pepper's keeping me up. That, and waiting for me to start coughing up blood, or to roll over and see you dead at the end of my bed. What's your excuse?"

"Not having him."

For a moment, Tony wanted to ask who Clint was talking about. But when the realization hit him, he felt guilty for it. Of course, Clint meant Arrow.

"It's strange." Tony affirmed.

"It scares me."

At that declaration, Tony wasn't sure what to say. Nothing, absolutely nothing, ever scared Clint. He might joke about screaming about spiders, or losing the use of his arm, but he always knew those would be fine in the end. He'd overcome his only true fear, needles, nearly a year ago around the same time Tony came to terms with his PTSD.

"Why?" Tony asked.

Clint didn't answer at first. The two of them took their time, nursing the beers slowly as they watched the promo screen for their game cycle through a few different three dimensional screens. The hue cast a blue light over their faces, and added a somber gloom to the abandoned room. Even the moon reflecting on the ocean outside cast a disheartening light over the world below.

"I'm deaf without him." Clint elaborated finally. "I was deaf before, I know. But right after I got my first good hearing aids, I got Arrow too. All of a sudden, he just knew what I needed. Only a couple months old at most, and he would wake me up and bring me my phone, or tell me when someone was talking. Remember the first time he did that?"

A sad smile spread over Tony's face. "Yeah. It was me."

"I never slept with my hearing aids in, even my receivers, because I never had to. I never even thought twice about it because I knew if something happened, the first one to alert me would be him. Now . . . what happens when I go to sleep one night and a maniac tries to blow up the tower? Or what happens if you need me, and I don't even know it? What if the room gets set on fire one day, and everyone knows it but me, and suddenly – "

"You must be some kind of idiot!" Tony exclaimed. He slammed his beer onto the side table and stood from the couch. Too overcome in emotion to take that kind of statement lying down, he paced in front of Clint.

"_I'm_ an idiot?!"

"Yeah, you are!" Tony affirmed. As he made his case, he counted off on his fingers. "First, that's saying none of us would think that you were missing to begin with, which is never going to happen. Second, that's saying that you are so dead-to-the-world unconscious that the house shaking or blowing up wouldn't bother you. Third, you have this weird sixth-sense thing that always wakes you up even if there isn't a problem but you think there is one. Four, you're just wrong."

"I am not wrong! Why do you get to dictate what I'm afraid of?"

"Because you aren't even being rational!" Tony moved Clint's legs, carefully, off the ottoman and sat in front of Clint. They were perfectly eye-to-eye.

"I'm telling you, right now, that this thing that's keeping you up at night is ridiculous. I'm your brother, Clint. Even if we weren't born in the same crappy place, or grew up in the same crappy life, we're still family. You're the closest thing I've got to that. I will not**_, will not_**, ever abandon you that way. Do you understand what I'm saying?" In the end, he wasn't accusatory, he was impactful. He truly wanted Clint to appreciate, with everything Tony had, the truth.

Clint absorbed his steadfast assurance, but didn't answer right away. He mulled over the reality Tony laid out before him. It all seemed so logical, and yet still he could not help the disquiet in his mind when he considered his own twisted ideas. When Arrow died, it was as if his very security died with him. Tony wanted so desperately to give that back. Clint had said some terrible things to Stark in the past, things that any normal person might just walk away from. If Tony held onto that sometimes overwhelming resentment, then it was absolutely possible they would have left their friendship in the Alfheimr woods forever.

"Clint? I need to know you're with me on this." Tony whispered. Barton still hadn't given him an answer.

Barton smiled just a little. "I'm with you, Tony."

"OK, then." He produced the game controller again and dropped it into Clint's open hand. "Now, drink your beer, play this game, and let's see if we can't close Loki's portal a second time without blowing ourselves up first."

* * *

><p>I can't help but love writing the bromance. I don't think its just me who loves these two:D<p>

_Next time: Natasha_

_should be posting the next chapter tomorrow or sunday. the last chapter will be soon after that! PLEASE REVIEW! i want to know how you liked this one:)_


	6. Natasha

Enjoy my Clintasha fans!

The last chapter was quite short, so i decided to combine them. in the future i may separate them again, but for now THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER!

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><p><strong>Recovery in Cabo<strong>

Natasha

He hobbled back into bed sometime later in the morning. She felt him sneak away before the sun rose. He didn't like to wake her, but Steve and he had sort of formed a routine when it came to his physical therapy. Everyone was so happy to see him branch out they didn't care how he did it.

The crutches made little noise as he rocked his way back to their shared bed. She'd taken all the blankets herself in his absence, and spent the time alone breathing in the very scent of him. She never thought she'd be the kind of woman who missed a man's touch, but here it was all the same. Clint Barton intoxicated her life the way he did most women. The First Lady already loved him. Then there was that daughter of hers, Katie. Before that, came Pepper, Natasha, Yelena Belova, Bobbi Morse, Christina Michaels, Brenda Oswald, and that was as far as Natasha's mental list went. Women loved Clint. He didn't always have the same shared connection with them, but he tried to show his affection in other typical ways. How many times did Natasha have to scare off the other female SHIELD agents? She'd lost count.

The bed listed left as he climbed in beside her. The sheet on his side shifted. He groaned.

Natasha turned over to look at him. He'd taken the time to shower at the gym at least. She complained the day before when he'd come back and grabbed her in his sweaty arms. At least now he could move both of them, though it still pained him.

Clint didn't notice she was awake at first. He focused on climbing onto the mattress with one bum knee Steve continued to lay into, and the fractured ankle that, by now, fared much better overall. He'd graduated out of Tony's 3D cast, and sported a lighter air cast instead. With the healing arm tucked against his chest, and the fractured ankle on the bed already, he worked to drag the rest of himself up. Rogers must have put him through the ringer, he appeared much more sore than usual.

"Need help?" Natasha asked quietly.

Putting his back into it, and hauling the majority of his weight up on one arm, Clint at last settled down. A massive sigh erupted from his lips.

"Feel better?"

"Mmhmm." He mumbled. His eyes rolled to the side of his head in order to see her without having to move.

"Wow. That bad?"

"Steve's a slave driver." Clint complained.

She sat up on her elbows and crawled a little closer. One hand reached down to the rolls of down blankets, and she dropped them over his chest. Her hand remained across him, beneath the blankets, tenderly massaging his arm.

"How'd I get this lucky?" he asked her.

"I keep asking myself how I let you bewitch me. I'm supposed to be better than that. It's kinda what my career's based on."

Clint grinned, but didn't laugh. Most likely he couldn't. She leaned up and pressed her lips beneath his jaw.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing in particular." She replied.

"Free smooches? Wow, I must be dying. Everyone lied. I'm not really going to get better, am I? This is the end of the line. Finito. Kaput. Washed up – "

She dropped her face into his new shirt and couldn't resist chuckling. "You are such a pain. Why do I even put up with this? You know, I should just end my misery."

He took her in his good arm and pulled her into the crook of his body. She'd never admit it to anyone, but there was something about being trapped against him that set her mind on fire. His arms had the sort of musculature that a medical student could study anatomy by. Years of archery gave him that. Careful attention to his physique created the rest of his Olympian form. Clint had been her partner for so long that she saw his body as an asset because she knew the sort of things he could do with it which might change the outcome of a mission. Lying there pressed against him, she thought of so many other uses for his body besides simply taking down a target. Her hand moved from his shoulder, which usually bothered him considerably after a workout, to the ripple of his abs beneath his cotton shirt. They stood out more with the lack of fat beneath and above to keep them insulated. He'd gained weight. Not a lot, but it was improving slowly with time, patience, and fighting over food with Steve.

Clint shifted away beneath her touch. He had an incredible propensity for ticklishness.

"I missed this." She whispered against him.

He tightened his grip around her back and dragged her closer. His chin rested in the freshly dyed locks of her hair. She'd decided to go blonde on a whim. They both agreed red suited her best, but the change was a little refreshing. She hadn't taken the time to cut it, straighten it, or fuss around with the shape. It just grew out in tangled waves and cascaded across him. He liked it like that.

"I missed it too. I'm sorry." He'd apologized around fifty times since she explained just how much she thought Asgard had taken his body only to bury him on alien soil. She thought that was all the apology was meant for. He had yet to fully quantify the depth of the word, though. He was sorry he scared her, sorry that the minute he went to Alfheimr, he only wanted to run away from Earth and never come back. Sorry that he considered leaving her, abandoned and alone, without so much as a civil word from him for the rest of their lives. Sorry he wasn't stronger, that he let his brother get to him, and that so many people had to die before then.

Natasha felt something change. His body tensed beneath the touch of her fingers. Everything seemed to tighten all at once. She lifted her head to look up at him. Even his eyes had turned away. They glared into the ceiling as if some enemy hovered above them and he meant to pick a fight.

"Hey..."

He sat up and didn't reply. She slid off of him to give him a little space, but continued to stare in confusion.

"Clint?"

"This isn't fair." He said suddenly. "It's not fair to you. I'm no good at this."

"I know you aren't. That's why you're the one that's divorced and not me."

Clint sent a sharp look toward her. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised you know about Bobbi. But if you do, then you know why I'm no good for you. Tash, what are we even doing here? This will never work out. Not for people like us. We never get the things we want."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't want you." She said the words with complete candor. "Besides, the minute Fury teamed us up, Bobbi Morse warned me about you. I went into this with both eyes wide open."

"What? When did that happen?"

"When we first got back. After Budapest." She pulled the covers up around her shoulders and nestled against the warmth and luxury. Surely, Clint didn't plan on having this conversation when he returned from the gym.

"What did she tell you?" His voice piqued.

"Whoa, there. It was nothing about your deep dark man-secrets, or where you took her for your honeymoon. Only that I shouldn't trust you. That you were bad for me." She glanced down and picked at the fibers on the coverlet. "She said you left her high and dry, never gave a real reason for it. And if I knew what was good for me, I'd better get out now before you broke me too."

Clint continued to stare. "She honestly said that about me?"

"Yeah."

"And she thought _I_ could break _you_?"

There were few things in life that Natasha, despite her increasing closeness to the archer, never shared. One of those secrets was his ability to completely unmake her. Only rarely did she feel close to the breaking point. Both recent occurrences came as a direct result of what someone warned they could do to Clint Barton. First Loki, and then Yelena, threatened to not just take him from her, but to literally destroy him. To pull him apart from his very foundation and force him to do things that would so completely abolish him in a way that Natasha could never mend.

"Funny how people think things like that." She said.

"Natasha, you're the strongest woman I know. If anyone thought that someone like me could be your undoing, then they've got another thing coming."

She smiled a little sadly and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. She wanted to change the subject away from herself. "Whatever happened between you two?"

If Clint had two working legs, he might have slipped out of bed, walked to the beach, jumped into the ocean, and swam to the African coastline. Being that he couldn't, he decided to face this conversation he never wanted to have.

"She left me." Clint started. "We got married soon after a mission together. We got into some hairy situations, and we got close. Too close. I rushed off with her when Phil wasn't looking, and by the time he caught up with us, we were hitched. I thought she was my entire world, and then I disappointed her. I ran away."

"I thought she left you."

"She did, but it was my fault. Bobbi loved me and I loved her. She was snarky, difficult, and pretty much a hellcat to deal with. But I was young, brash, a pain, and annoying. We fit each other. Together, I thought we could do anything we wanted. And then I was wrong. We got in deep on a mission. Someone spotted the two of us together undercover. I was lead. Phil sent me in to steal information on a Russian mob operating in twenty-five states and four separate countries. They were as deadly as they come, and I thought I could take them myself. I was undercover for a while. Bobbi came to see me and my cover was blown. Hers too. The worst of those men I hunted down threatened me. I didn't take it seriously, so they took her and I watched them break twelve of her vertebrae. She was in traction for months. I had to leave her to protect her."

"She divorced you on Valentine's Day from what I heard." Natasha said. She lied. She didn't hear it from anyone, she'd read it in Bobbi's file two years before in a fit of midnight curiosity.

"I never told her the truth." Clint affirmed. "I pulled away to take out those men who threatened to kill her. I did catch up with them, and ended them, too. But I was away too long. She figured I'd given up on her. You wanna know some poetic justice?"

Natasha nodded.

"I'm paying for this trip to Cabo with the money I stole from the mob."

"Seriously?!"

He chuckled a little. "Yeah, well, we sort of crossed paths again when I was undercover in New York. They aren't much of a mob anymore, but they had a considerable financial backing I just happened to walk into . . . and walk out with."

She scooted closer and dragged him against her again. He didn't want to fall back into the covers with her. He wanted Natasha to realize how serious he was about not wanting to continue this relationship of theirs that must have been just as doomed as every other one in his life. Natasha was never one to take no for an answer. She arranged the pillows beneath him, and pulled her leg over his abdomen before hooking her heel behind his leg. Her hands snaked around his neck. Eventually. he conceded to her ministrations and circled her back with his arms.

"Sounds like the Mockingbird doesn't know what's good for her." She said. "If you decided to run off and take down an international organization to protect me, I would have been grateful. Oh wait…"

"I did do that for you." Clint smiled.

"You really know how to show a girl a good time."

"Only the ones I like."

She leaned up and planted another kiss along his jaw. He turned his face slightly, and she finished the embrace with their mouths entwined. Her body shifted against his, and Clint winced as more of her weight pressed against him. To spare his sore body, she supported herself with her hands.

"Are you ever going to tell me about what happened on Alfheimr?" she asked.

He shook his head a little. "Not if I can help it. I'm not proud of what happened up there. How I acted."

That surprised her. Clint loved the other realms and his opportunities to visit them. She never heard him be disappointed in a trip. She sat up, straddling his chest. Apparently she expected him to continue on despite the reservations he mentioned.

So he told her the truth. The truth about how he never wanted to come back to her or share this intimate moment. Wracked in guilt, grief, and anger, he abandoned his only safety, his friends, and struck out on his own. He wanted to forget about Midgard and everyone in it. He would be just another lost soul traveling around the stars with no desire to return to his home. The ultimate runaway. But that desire to run nearly cost him his life.

Natasha hands stretched beneath his shirt, and pushed upward. Her fingers rippling over the mounds of chiseled muscle. The fabric reached his torso, and he leaned forward a little so she could pull it off of him. The fabric found its way to the floor beside his socks and shoes. Carefully, she outlined the pink flesh around the epicenter of the arrow wound. The small incisions from the arthroscopy were still on the med. Outlines of yellow bruises left them discolored.

"We didn't know the arrow was laced until my arm started to rot off my body. I thought I was going to lose my whole arm. It smelled like a dead body. The bone was broken, and everything around it started turning to mush. By the time we realized what happened, the venom had hit my blood stream. I wouldn't wish the stuff on my worst enemy."

"You said it almost killed you."

"No, it _did_ kill me." He took her hand away from the scar and centered it on his chest, where he held her fingers in his. "It was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I could feel every bone in my body, and each one was on fire. Steve and Tony didn't know what to do. I was useless. If King Rinon hadn't sent Haladarrel to us, I wouldn't even be alive. The venom goes to your lungs. Drowns you in your own blood. Haladarrel acted like my private ventilator. He spent hours just keeping me breathing while I coughed up blood. I don't remember it really well, but Tony and Steve will never forget it."

Natasha thought of the first week they were in Cabo. Clint swallowed his water wrong, and both Tony and Steve nearly lost their minds. Hearing the reason made more sense. But the incident didn't just last once. He laid all the facts down for her from the moment Haladarrel came to his rescue, to veritably dying on Doodle's couch, watching Steve and Haladarrel fall from the branches of the great tree, and the battle against Ge'elaphi. She wanted the truth, and he laid it out for her.

"If Sif hadn't have gotten there, I might not have you now." She said.

"Either that, or I'd be an one-armed archer." Clint replied. He sat up, and she slid back into his lap. He tilted his forehead against hers and pressed into the touch. "I'm sorry I never wanted to come back. I just run when things get tough. I can't help it."

"I know you do, Clint. I've worked with you long enough to know exactly what I'm getting into."

"Can this never change?" he plead. "Let's just . . . let's not change this."

She tightened her grip around his chest and closed the space between them. He dipped his head into the nape of her neck. He'd missed this closeness during his time away. This private bond they shared that no one else could understand. Phil wasn't surprised to hear they were a commodity, but then again, he knew Clint. The real test would be seeing how long Barton could keep her. Natasha had the same wandering heart. She could disappear at a moment's notice and be gone forever.

"I'll find you. If you ever run off, try and get away, even if you think you are protecting me, then I'll find you." She said.

He kissed the flesh against her neck. "I already proved what I'd do to get you back."

She smiled, loving him and hating him all in the same thought. "You came to Budapest after me, let me torture you, you vouched for me anyway and took down HYDRA. I think you might be a keeper."

He returned to her lips and devoured the taste of her. It was like mint and a hint of strawberries exploding in his senses. To Natasha, he was just . . . clean. Like fresh laundry or a spring morning. The skin felt cool at first, but progressively the heat turned up.

There wasn't a word for what they were. Relationship, lovers, boyfriend and girlfriend, couple, none of those quantified the volatility of two runaways, killers, spies, and saviors completely enraptured in one another. It wasn't a war of dueling personalities. It wasn't fire and ice, sun and rain, or day and night. They were two sticks of TNT set to ignite, or halves to the same bolt of lightning. One day, perhaps, the dungeon of their private love would burn to the ground with their hearts locked inside it. Until then, they could stave off the impossibility of their love ever blossoming to something normal, and simply have each other.

:(:):(:):

Clint stood in line at the airport Java Java to scare up a cup of coffee that might help him survive the flight to Waverly, Iowa. The airport was relatively quiet at that time of morning. Most flights were incoming with few travelers deciding to escape San Lucas at 5 a.m. Hardly anyone shared the Iowa flight with the Avengers, but those that had shown were sure glad they made the decision. Already, the entire team had been the subject of forty-eight new Instagram statuses.

He still wore the brace on his knee, at least for now, though he needed its support less and less. His right ankle healed and stopped bothering him along with his other minor ailments. The shoulder, though, didn't come nearly as far along as he had hoped for. A miraculous recovery was out of the question. He knew that, the moment the healing waters from Asgard only brought him half way to healing and formed a knot of scar tissues which took the doctors four hours to free. He had hoped that, by the time he could walk on his broken ankle, he'd be able to shoot his bow with his bad arm. That hope proved wrong.

"You? Hey, is this you?" Someone tapped Clint from behind. He shifted around in place to see the man standing in line after him.

" 'scuse me?" Clint asked.

"This guy here." The man turned over his copy of Vanity Fair to display the cover.

The archer moved his sunglasses to the top of his head. Obviously, they weren't doing much to hide his features. At Clint's request, the customer handed over the copy of the magazine for him to take a better look. Christine Everheart didn't wait long to get the magazine on the racks. He was surprised she'd held onto their mutual bargain. She must have had spies at every local airport waiting for the Avengers to roll out. That, or she'd greased a few palms with the receptionist who checked them out at the hotel. Knowing what most of it said already, he quickly scrolled across the words.

"Hawkeye Tells All!" The headline read. Beneath that, the cover boasted the exclusive interview with "The man behind the White House rescue". He flipped to the inner pages and perused the layout of the article.

**Earth's Mightiest Hero  
>How can a man survive in a world of monsters?<strong>

_Ex-SHIELD Agent Clint "Hawkeye" Barton sat down for a candid interview with Vanity Fair's own Christine Everheart in order to address some of those questions everyone has been asking about his life. As one of the only mortal members of the Avengers, he suffered significant injuries in the White House hostage crisis. Since leaving New York, the entire Avengers team has rallied around their injured member, something that Barton says he is "forever grateful for."_

_S_i_tting on a hammock overlooking the crystal blue waters beside a secret beach, Clint "Hawkeye" Barton appears as normal as any other man. There is a brace on his right knee, a cast from his left foot up to his calf, and his right arm rested in a sling. Just a few of the many injuries he admitted to suffering in the years since the world first became introduced to the Avengers._

_Hawkeye first stepped out of the shadows during the Battle of New York, though he explains that, over the years, working as a SHIELD agent, he had been part of many missions all over the globe._

_"I was a spy. I did all the things you can imagine a spy goes through. My SHIELD files were declassified when the organization fell. I haven't read them, so I don't know if all of it's in there."_

_Barton became a full-time Avenger within a few months of the Battle of New York and admits that initially he hadn't even been considered for the project. After a recommendation by Tony Stark, Barton was finally assigned to the Avengers on a permanent basis._

_A native of Waverly, Iowa, Hawkeye grew up in a small home with two parents and his older brother, Charles "Barney" Barton. He admits to a difficult home life._

_"My old man was a drunk. He abused my brother and I, my mother, and I never saw a person in his life he liked. One of the reasons I do what I do is to make up for the things I endured. No one should ever suffer through that. Especially not kids."_

_Over the years, Hawkeye has made a name for himself in helping the innocent, downtrodden, and especially children. He spent the majority of his adolescence in a boys' home, where being bullied became another part of life. He left the home at an early age to follow his brother to the circus. They joined "Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders" a B-list outfit that played in lesser cities up and the Midwest. His skill with the bow was honed to a masterful art under the instruction of his mentor, Charles "Trick Shot" Chisholm, who sadly lost his life to cancer just last year._

_"Trick taught me everything I know about being the archer I am today. He wasn't innocent or perfect, but to an orphan who ran off and joined the circus, he was the closest thing I had to a father. I went to the hospital and held his hand when he died. He warned me about Barney, that he would stop at nothing to make the world pay for our rotten life. I took that warning to heart."_

_The Avengers realized that something in SHIELD was wrong, and Barney might be the one involved. Barton was elected to go undercover, leave the team for an unknown time, in order to take down the infection growing in the organization. He lived alone, traveling everywhere along the East Coast to track down leads. While he risked life and limb to save the family he loved, the Avengers, he watched as the world turned its back on him._

_"I needed everyone to stop seeing me as a threat. I spoke to Director Fury once when I came clean about my true mission. Apparently, I even convinced him. Not the easiest thing to do."_

_During his time undercover, Barton admits to being shot once, and even stabbed near his spine. Only a week after that time, he finally revealed the details of his month-long investigation. His information was pivotal in undermining the HYDRA infiltrators, and stopped the launch of the three Heli-carriers. Barton, though, was out of the country at that point. He had information about taking down his brother, and faced bringing his only living family to justice, alone._

_The SHIELD team sent in as his backup turned out to be HYDRA agents. There was a standoff, and Hawkeye barely made it out alive. In a moment when he thought he had no way out, he activated an emergency beacon and called out to the other Avengers for help._

_There was no denying the two week disappearance that followed after the Avengers, Steve "Captain America" Rogers and Tony Stark, aka "Iron Man", came to Hawkeye's aid. What exactly came next, though, the marksman was silent and introspective on._

_"Everyone needs their secrets," he said, his eyes drifting to Thor, Natasha Romanov, Captain Rogers, and Pepper Potts, who all enjoyed a little fun in the Mexican sand and sun. "We got back as soon as we could. And it wasn't our idea to ever leave, not with what my brother must have been planning. Thor rescued us. When we came back, that's when I knew it was time to put an end to it all."_

_"You mean your brother?" the interviewer asked._

_Hawkeye continued to look out over to his teammates, who enjoyed the brief relief they were granted after years of endless service to the planet at large. He didn't answer the question._

_When asked why the Avengers left New York, after only a day of the White House explosion, he candidly indicated the myriad of injuries that he sustained in the aftermath._

_"A few cracked ribs, bruised liver, broken ankle, and a ruptured ACL. I've had two surgeries since landing here. Being a hero comes with a toll on, not just your mind, but your body. I'm not like Thor, I'm not a super soldier, and I don't wear a tin can. I bleed just like everybody else."_

_Between surviving the explosion, and injuries sustained prior, Clint Barton has suffered severe blows to his health. The most prominent of which is his current shoulder injury. Though he did not go into details as to the origin of the damage, it is painfully obvious that the archer cannot use his right arm. Private moments were captured between Barton, Dr. Banner, and Captain Rogers, who_ _have all been key in his recovery. He has undergone one procedure already meant to remove scar tissue in the joint, but admits that he currently cannot even use the weapon for which he is so famous. When asked whether he could use his archery skills in the future, he said:_

_"If I still have an arm. I will find a way to shoot. Nothing will ever take that from me. The team has been great, supportive, and I challenge anyone to head to the gym with Captain America as their physical therapist. I'm recovering. It's taking time, which we all expected, but I'm getting better."_

_When asked why, out of every place in the world the Avengers could go for a vacation, they chose Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, another surprise came to light._

_"My brother stayed here once. In this villa too, just before this all started. I know what he did, and I know he was one of the most dangerous enemies we have ever faced, despite his need to redeem himself in the end. But he was still family. Before I let him go, I wanted to come here to be close to him again."_

_So, surrounded by teammates, friends, and family, Clint Barton and the Avengers have spent the time since leaving New York, reconnecting with the man who nearly fell on the sword to save all of us._

_Thank you, Hawkeye. We all wish you a swift recovery._

:(:):(:):

"This is you, isn't it?" the customer asked again.

Clint flashed the guy a bit of a grin and handed the magazine back. "Yeah, you got me. Time's up though. We're heading back to real life again."

"How's that arm doing? I had a rotator cuff injury myself few years back from working at the factory. It had me out for near four months before I could even lift my arm again. They got you out of the sling already?"

Clint held out his left hand to the gentleman. "Clint."

The man fumbled his hands for a moment before shaking. "Ellis."

"My arm's coming along. Knee's giving me more trouble I think, but that had more damage to deal with. I hate walking around with the brace on, but what can I do? I sometimes put the arm sling on. But I'm too used to having both hands free to really tolerate it."

Ellis grinned. "Spy stuff. Don't worry. My boy was in the Army. He said the same thing."

"Sir?" the barista asked.

Clint turned in place to realize the line ahead of him had disappeared. He shuffled along, and placed the seven separate coffee orders. All of them were individual, each just as complicated, and the minute the barista asked if he wanted normal or synthetic sugar, his plan fell apart. Seven black coffees with a mound of cream and sugar packets worked just as effectively. While she headed off to fill the order, Clint turned back to his conversation.

"You heading back to New York then? Back to that big shiny tower?" Ellis asked.

"Not just yet. We're heading to Iowa first."

"Where you're from?"

"I haven't had a chance to bury my brother yet. I'm heading back to do that."

Ellis's expression fell. He'd seen the news just as everyone else had. If not the original broadcast, then surely the continual repeats. It was strange, though, to think of the man who kidnapped the President as having a family. Not only family, but the hero of the White House rescue himself. And now there was Clint, planning the burial of a man who would live forever in infamy. It humanized Barney Barton in a way the old metal mechanic would never suspect.

"It's hard losing family. I'm real sorry a young man like you has to do something like that. I wanna say thank you, too, for doing what you did. I've got two grandkids. Both of them boys, and they look up to you lot something fierce. To think that one might one day have to bury the other?" He looked down, shaking his head.

The barista slid the two stacks of coffee across the counter for the Avenger, along with a bag full of sugar, spoons, and other fixings. Clint produced his card and paid for their morning pick-me-up. To Ellis, he said, "No brother should go through some of the things we've seen or done. It's what makes us different. Thor had Loki, so he's strangely easy to talk to about all this."

He left the items on the counter for a moment and turned. "Where are you heading?"

"Texas. Finished my vacation with the little woman. Gotta get that woman something to eat before she eats _me_." Ellis said. He held out his left hand again. "Real pleasure to meet you."

Clint shook his hand. He picked up the trays of coffee, and just managed to get the brown bag wedged between his fingers. "How old are those grandkids?" he asked.

Ellis held up his hand to a little above his waist. "Sprout boys. Around eight years now. Birthday's in three weeks."

"Who's their favorite Avenger?"

Ellis smiled.

"Hey, if it's not me, don't feel bad." Clint said.

"Thor and Captain America." Ellis admitted. He set his few things out to get rung up. Clint set his things down again, paid for the man's order, despite his protest, and the two headed off toward the terminal again. Clint had an idea for Ellis and his kids back in the States.

He missed having the team back together. He liked walking back to the group with stacks of coffee, a new friend, and the promise of a group selfie. Then, he secretly hated himself for using the term "selfie", even if it was only in his head.

Thor and Steve were doing pushups off the airport benches. Pepper still couldn't understand why Tony was dead-set on a commercial flight and not his private plane (although he continued to explain the humor of stuffing Thor into an airline bag). Natasha smiled as he came by, and helped him with the drinks. Bruce and Tony were discussing the theory of quantum mechanics and the latest way they could break the theory into microscopic components.

When Clint came by with Ellis and his wife, who they picked up along the way, the Avengers finished their side conversations and came over. They rallied around the archer like the team they were, letting him sit and rest his leg while the rest introduced themselves to the new couple. Cell phone cameras extracted. Pictures were taken. Goodbyes were said.

Ellis tipped his hand to his brow at Clint. "You take care of that arm now."

Barton smiled. "Will do."

Tony fell into a seat beside his friend and threw an arm over the back of his chair. "Don't worry about him. For better or for worse, he's got us. And that's something that can't be replaced. We're never going anywhere."

* * *

><p>Now, really, how cute is all that? It just makes my soul smile.<p>

my favorite line in this chapter: "She'd never admit it to anyone, but there was something about being trapped against him that set her mind on fire."

that just puts such an emotion in my chest like the twisting of a fist around my heart. I love it.

So, that's it folks! If you want to see the actual Vanity Fair article layout, i created it and a cover which can both be viewed on my facebook page (look for Ezra Cross).

Things I am working on for the future:

**1: Untitled:** _I was rather mean leaving the last epilogue of "where the Worlds Burn" as Clint going blind. Now what caused it? how will he fix it? Can he fix it? and what will the team do when they find out? Full of casting calls from ALL CORNERS of the Marvel Universe from Logan to Star-Lord! _

**2: Stranded:**_ Steve get's his greatest wish come true! He is finally sent back to 1941, where Peggy is within grasp and so is that dance, and he can restart his life again. The trouble? Clint has been dragged through the portal with him. How can one return without the other? What dark secrets has Steve left buried about his past that he can no longer run from? And what will they do now that they are stranded in Nazi occupied Poland during World War 2? Stay tuned!_


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